


Doing It Properly

by Batastic_Grayson



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Marriage Proposal, Massage, Multi, Soft Bruce Wayne, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Wonderbat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batastic_Grayson/pseuds/Batastic_Grayson
Summary: Diana and Bruce have been together a long time, but they've never made it "official". Now that the boys and Alfred are comfortable with making Diana a permanent part of their lives at the manor, Bruce has aims to fix that. You might expect an extravagant proposal on a beach in Cabo...but that's just not his style. Thankfully, Diana wouldn't have it any other way.





	Doing It Properly

**_Diana_ **

We spend most of the evening with the boys, absorbing as much time as possible with them after our trip off-world. We were gone two weeks, and it’s hard for me to describe how relieved I am to be in my own house again, breathing in the familiar smells of lemon polish and something baking in the downstairs kitchen. I’ve always enjoyed the thrill of a mission, the push and pull of muscle during combat, the refining burn of adrenaline when choices must be made quickly. It’s what defined my childhood and adolescence on Themyscira. It’s part of the reason I love doing what I do so much.

But…I can’t deny that finally digging in some roots here at the manor has softened me over time. Where I would once have been ambivalent to long periods spent off world, I now hesitate. I miss my own bed, my favorite slippers, Alfred’s cooking, the constant sounds of bickering, and even the hordes of animals that Damian collects. I miss the mundane nature of home, with all its regularity and warmth. It was something I lacked as a child, and now find as a woman.

Mostly, because of Bruce.

I watch him over the rim of my glass, admiring how easily he adopts the role of father, fixer, and friend whenever the boys are around. Bruce is currently listening patiently as Damian details the reasoning behind adopting a saltwater crocodile for the outside pond, smiling lightly as he and the other boys share loaded looks. When it is time to decline Damian, he does so with enough grace that the usually spirited boy backs down quite easily. I sense he’s just happy his father is home, so he’s more willing to let the issue lie. No doubt he’ll bring it up at a later date.

I smile when Bruce looks to me briefly, warmed when his lips stray into a fleeting smile before he’s returning his attention to Dick and Jason who have launched into an implausibly heroic story. I could be jealous of the boys for how much attention Bruce gives them, but I just can’t seem to begrudge them his love. They’ve all been through so much pain, separately and together, that seeing this small family salvaged from the storms of life…well, it heals something inside me too. I can’t help but enjoy watching Bruce flourish under the role of father. It’s like he was born to it.

When the evening is at last winding down and we’ve all had our fill of dinner, rambling stories, and arguing, we begin shuffling our separate ways. Damian, as has become somewhat of a custom between us, offers me a brief side embrace on his way up to bed wordlessly. I’ve never mentioned how impossibly grateful I am for this small sign of affection from the little hellion, but it means a great deal to me. It makes me feel like I belong here.

Dick offers his usual bear hug, Tim a smaller scale embrace, and Jason a simple two-fingered salute. They each file to their bedrooms with tired eyes and grumbled protests about Alfred waking them for yard work tomorrow morning, until all that remains is Bruce and me.

We don’t say anything when we weave our fingers together and head for the stairs, but I can feel the soft silence between us like a band of iron, drawing us inward until we’re brushing shoulders in the stillness of a manor at twilight. The halls are the kind of stillness that inhabits fairytales, the sounds of our footsteps hushed and muted by the heavy carpets. Our room, when we do at last slip inside, is awash in the shades of moonlight and burgundy fabric I’ve come to associate with home.

I take a deep inhale when we stop inside the doorway, leaning slightly into Bruce who’s come to linger at my side. It smells like laundry detergent and mint toothpaste in here—clean, simple, warm. Like home.

Bruce settles an arm heavily around my waist, voice humming low against my ear. “Happy to be home?”

I smile, tipping my chin back to catch his lips with mine lightly. “More than you know. I missed it.”

He nods, pearl grey eyes studying the room briefly. When they do at last rest back on me, tiny fans of wrinkles press at their corners as he smiles. “Me too.”

It’s a familiar scene, preparing for bed like we do. Bruce follows his nightly routine to the letter—brushing teeth, washing his face, changing into pajamas and all the other creature habits that make him so happy. I finish long before he does, and I watch him with mild amusement from the bed as he strides about the room, putting things to rights. Putting away clean laundry, stowing bags, taking a handful of prescriptions and vitamins. He settles Ace on the dog bed at the foot of ours, offering a good ear scratch and some cooed praise, before he’s slipping into bed beside me.

He brings with him the scent of lotion and peppermint, but I’ve stopped paying attention to him several minutes ago. I’ve taken up a copy of a book from my nightstand and am leaned into the pillows at my back comfortably. It’s a routine that Bruce usually does the same, so I’m not particularly surprised when he perches a pair of glasses on his nose and sets about reading a thick volume of something intensely boring.

What is surprising is when I feel the bed shift after only a couple minutes and the sounds of a book snapping shut and glasses being discarded fill the bedroom. It’s a matter of moments more before he’s squeezing between the pillows and myself, putting his front flush to my back comfortably. His hands begin kneading at my shoulders unbidden, breath warm against the shell of my ear when he sighs heavily.

I lower my book slightly, raising a brow, “You’re awfully cuddly tonight.”

Bruce hums, and the sound vibrates through his chest into my own. I can feel his nose skimming the hair at my neck, inhaling lightly, “Hmm, should I stop?”

I lean my head back into him, letting the book fall closed in my lap, “No, no, by all means. Continue.”

He chuckles, and true to form, he keeps kneading my shoulders and back for several more minutes. The weeks we spent from home start to melt from my frame, like wax away from cool fabric, and I sink deeper into his hands when he works the tight muscles along my neck into submission. This continues until I feel like putty, pliable and warm and very, very happy. I’ve gone so limp that I don’t even try to hold myself up when Bruce quits massaging and just winds his arms around my waist.

I lean into his chest, letting my eyes slip closed with a contented sigh. I feel Bruce smiling into my temple when he brushes his lips there, and his arms tighten almost imperceptibly around my stomach. Warm, possessive, whole.

“The boys missed you.”

My eyes stay closed when I lift a brow, “You think so?”

He nods, inhaling softly, “Yes. Damian in particular has taken a strong liking to you. I noticed he’s started hugging you.”

I stiffen slightly, and my eyes flicker open to glance up at Bruce. His expression is calm, sedate, but I still feel myself asking. “Is that…okay? I mean, would Talia protest?"

His brows lower slightly, but a smile is playing at his lips. My stomach starts to loosen even before he begins speaking. “I wouldn’t worry. Talia isn’t…concerned with Damian anymore. Not since he’s chosen to shirk his grandfather’s mission.” Bruce pauses, and the warmth in his eyes grows until they look like a pale Mediterranean blue. “But _I_ am immensely grateful that he trusts you. It makes me hopeful that his future will not be marked by mistrust and pain.”

I smile in return, thinking about the little boy who used to proudly announce his distaste for me every time we met. He reminds me very much of myself-- strong-willed, proud, fierce, loyal. Afraid to trust, but afraid to be alone. It warms me to think that I have had a hand, however small, in leading him towards healing, towards viewing others as opportunities instead of threats. I am tremendously grateful that Bruce has allowed me that opportunity, because I’ve grown rather attached to the boy. I don’t think I could survive giving him up now that we’re starting to make progress.

“Well, I am quite fond of Damian.”

Bruce smiles warmly, one hand reaching up to toy with the hair at my temples, “Yes, and although he will likely never admit it, he’s very attached to you. The other boys as well. Jason asks me every time we speak how you are, and both Dick and Tim tell me they miss you when you leave. Alfred has even started adding your favorite things to the menu. I believe Wednesday is your designated night.”

He sighs, looking away into the bedroom with a soft frown, “I didn’t think we’d ever find someone we could all love like you, Diana. Someone who could take my boys and I together, who could handle me at my worst and stay with me still…who would be strong enough to love my children like her own. But then I found you…and everything changed.”

Bruce says these things quietly, little affirmations of how much I am loved here at the manor, sacred in their own right, and I don’t realize how much they affect me until I feel a fist tightening in my chest. It has become suddenly unbearably difficult to swallow, and my eyes burn fiercely, threatening to expose me.

But I suppose I’m easy to read, because Bruce is looking down at me with eyes like worn silver, fingertips still stroking back my hair repetitively. He looks at me like he can see right through me, like I’m made of stained glass instead of flesh and bone, but I don’t mind. It’s a relief to be transparent with Bruce, to let him know just how much I treasure our little family. Even if I don’t know how to say it with words.

“Diana, we love you. All of us.” I nod in a wobbly sort of manner, still too emotional to speak. I’m afraid that if I say something, I’ll fissure and fall apart into little pieces. So I just look up at him with watery eyes, and I let him continue.

His expression levels into something uniquely serene, his eyes dancing over my face, taking me in. He traces a fingertip over my browbone and down my cheek, back and forth, over and over. His gaze eventually comes back to my own. “I talked with the boys and Alfred a few weeks ago. Before we went off-world.”

I frown, waiting for him to say something. When he stays silent for a few moments, seemingly lost in thought, I try a whispered, “And?”

He comes back to me with a small half-smile, fingertips hesitating at my brow again. When he does speak, he simply lifts a shoulder. “And we all agreed that we’d like to have you around. Permanently.”

When all I do is blink up at him stupidly, unable to fragment a cohesive sentence into one piece, Bruce leans towards his side of the bed. I hear the sound of a drawer opening distantly, and Bruce comes back into view holding a small box in his palm. He sets it on my stomach gently and waits for me to open it.

I do, with barely trembling hands and my heart pounding in my throat. It’s a ring, like I hoped it would be. Simple silver band, one single opal flanked by two diamonds. I recognize it immediately as his mother’s ring, the one he’s kept in his nightstand for as long as I can remember. To have it given to me now, after all this time…

I stare at the band between my fingers, and all I can seem to manage is a half-whispered, half-chuckling, “Are you proposing to me?”

His laugh is warm against me, “Is it that obvious?”

I’m overtaken with something past joy, something much more solid and lasting, and I slide the ring on with shaky hands. It looks…right. It looks beautiful. But of course, my next thought following blind joy is a flash of guilt at wearing Martha Wayne’s ring. It feels too sacred, too treasured for me. Like Bruce has given me something I don’t deserve.

I frown, hand falling to my stomach, “But Bruce…your mother’s ring—”

“Is now yours.” His voice doesn’t waver, nor do his eyes when he lifts my hand from the bedspread, adjusting the band on my ring finger carefully. “My mother was a hopeless romantic…she liked heirlooms and holy things and history. She would’ve wanted you to have it.”

“And the boys…you spoke to them about this? They aren’t upset?”

Bruce smiles. His fingertips have gone back to tracing my features, like memorizing a story with his hands. “No. They were all in agreement—surprised I hadn’t asked sooner, actually.”

I give a small laugh, “Well, technically, you haven’t even asked yet.”

Bruce arches a brow, a smirk marking his lips devious. “And technically, you haven’t given me an answer.”

He leans down to press a kiss to my brow which ends up lingering around my lips, a force of habit that can’t be broken. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t beg for an epilogue, the kind that tingles like déjà vu and speaks of comfort. It’s the kiss of two people who have done battle together, for one another.

It’s the kind of kiss I hope to be sharing for the rest of my life now.

We deepen the kiss without trying, in a way that is practiced and comfortable, until we find ourselves facing into each other. I’ve long since tossed the book to the floor, and Bruce has begun winding his fingers into my hair. My hands are rapidly trying to do away with his shirt, fire licking against my skin with every moment we take this further.

So it’s a great show of effort when I force myself to slow down.

I break away from him before we get too carried away, but our noses are still touching, eyes still closed to inhale deep breaths of one another when I do. I grin, opening one eye to peer at him. “Should we try to do this properly?”

Bruce chuckles. His breath tastes like mint toothpaste when he brushes my lips with another kiss, pulling away only long enough to murmur, “Marry me, Diana.”

It’s not exactly a question, but I suppose it will have to do. I smile into him, aware that I’ve begun pulling at the hem of his shirt again. I sigh. I should’ve known it was hopeless trying to refuse myself. I never did have any self-control when it came to Bruce.

I slip the shirt over his head with one final movement, flashing a half-grin when I see that his eyes have deepened to navy. Disarrayed hair, eyes dark with intent, and lips poised. Love beats like a drum in my chest, echoed back in Bruce’s eyes as they meet mine. It’s so strong it threatens to crush us in the undertow. But somehow, against reason, it doesn’t. 

I doubt he hears me when we come back together again and I whisper, “Alright.” But I suppose it doesn’t matter. My actions seem to be speaking for me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm a glutton for WonderBat fluff, so I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Here's to marital bliss--and awkward in-bed proposals! 
> 
> I do not own DC or their characters, but I do own this story! :)


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